


Burned, not Buried

by the-canary (siruru)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Bittersweet, Denial of Feelings, Developing Friendships, Drinking, F/F, Feelings Realization, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Reader-Insert, Secret Crush, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 02:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siruru/pseuds/the-canary
Summary: Space and isolation are necessary things at times, but they also blind you to others.





	Burned, not Buried

**Author's Note:**

> this is now @barnesrogersvstheworld ‘s 1k challenge! i think the prompt worked out both ways, rather than just towards steve. been in a big mood lately, and maybe you could feel it here. i’m not so sure about this much, but i hope you enjoy it – at least somewhat. 
> 
> Prompt: i gave him the moon and stars, but all he wants is space.
> 
> As also, feedback in always appreciated.

It was kind of strange to be the one that people were looking for after so many years of chasing one particular person, but nobody really had your set of skills. No, that wasn’t exactly true, but it was better to deal with something familiar than turn to look into someone else, you might not know -- a stab in the back, a shot in the dark -- your line of work made people paranoid. Tonight, it has you scrutinizing the tall, bearded blond man seated in the back of one of your more regular pubs. The bartender --a stubby, red haired man-- knows your order as he gives you a nod before handing it to you.

You sit there, nursing it the drink, for a good twenty minutes before asking for another one alongside some snacks. You glance at the pub twice over, red bar stools with small laps in every booth though it didn’t help with seeing everyone that was in the place. It had taken you a long time to calm down when you first entered through these doors a few months back, but you had gotten used to it.

However, tonight was a different story, your back was hot with a stare you would rather not look up to meet. You know who it is and you briefly have to wonder if it was Natasha, who always knew where you were (your relationship was like that by now, even if you always rejected her offer), or Wanda who you had meet by accident near a bakery with Vision a few weeks ago.

It was probably Vision, since the Avengers were “officially” back together for some time now since one James Buchanan Barnes had been pardoned and the two leaders had made an awkward but necessary amends. He was probably pulling back the pieces of everything that used to be, not that you were that important to begin with.

“Whiskey, please,” he finally states, as you turn up slightly to see said bearded man -- Steve Rogers, Captain America in the flesh. You sigh and down your own drink in one go, the feeling of not talking and simply returning to your little dingy apartment almost overwhelming you. However, there is something deeper running through your veins, a liquid fire that you hated yourself for, that kept you glued to your seat.

“It’s been awhile,” there’s an odd timber to his voice, which causes you to look at him -- bad idea. Blue eyes are softer than usual and there’s an awkward smile on his face as he keeps looking at you, as if looking for some type of answer. It sends your brain on high alert, as you stiffen up and put your guard up.

“Could you just give me your sales pitch, so I can say no and go home,” you exclaim in annoyance, staring straight ahead, playing with your glass cup, “I really doubt it’s any different from Nat’s, though.”

“I didn’t come for that,” he answers honestly, as your eyes widen. Red alarms going off in your head because the only reason Steve Rogers would come and even consider seeking you out would be for recruitment -- getting back into the game, even though you hadn’t been on his type of battlefield in almost 3 years. Unless, someone else told him something, a breath of air leaves your body as you get up on shaky legs.

“Yeah, no. Not doing this...whatever you want,” you make hand motions between the two of you, while Steve watches patiently, only for you to pay for your drinks and leave. Steve never says or does anything to stop you, as you walk into the chilly Scottish night.

“‘m guessing you’re the man she’s been mulling over,” the bartender, steady and fatherly, ask the sighing blond.

“I guess I am,” is all Steve can say.

* * *

  **2011.**

In hindsight, you should have headed May’s warning after Coulson had given you this assignment. You were perfect in everything you did, clean and efficient, but you had a big heart and you often got swept up in Coulson’s old Captain America stories. _Don’t let hero worship destroy you_ , and she had been right in the long haul. Back then, you were just a field agent with the right amount psychological training and connections to Coulson (and Fury) that he wanted you to try to help integrate Steve Rogers back into modern society.

It’s not easy to win Captain America’s trust, and you are never able to in those short months you shared with him. There was anger and resentment underneath that veneer of cold politeness every time you meet him in that mock 1940’s gym. And while, he was never directly angry with you, he never lets you in either -- you’re just there to help him catch up, nothing more.

“So, there still aren’t any flying cars around?” he questions, general curiosity towards the subject as he looks over the detailed notes you had presented to him. From one to three in the afternoon, you would set up in the gym and give him a detailed report on a certain year -- today, you were hitting the 1960’s.

“No, but every few years you hear about Tesla or Stark Industries trying their hands at it,” you explain, almost not noticing how blue eyes flicker at a certain name. You don’t say anything on the matter, not wanting to bring up how Howard Stark died.

“Tesla, the inventor? I thought he died in ‘43,” Steve dodges the subject by asking another question, as you nod.

“The founders of Tesla Inc. named it after the inventor as a homage,” you state as he nods, “But, before we get into Silicon Valley, I should probably go into how the Space Race started.”

His blue eyes light up at the mention of science with a slight quirk of his lip your smile grows a bit more on its own. It’s a small crack in his suit of armor, you could handle that -- just a little more, just a little more and maybe, Steve Rogers could learn to accept this age.

Then, the Battle of New York happens.   

* * *

“Good morning,” the familiar voice greets as you don’t give him the time of day, better of playing on your computer with what a certain someone had sent you than meeting whatever emotion was directed at you today. It had been two weeks since the night back in Scotland and while your heart played crazy with ideal teen fantasies, your head knew better. You still weren’t sure what he wanted with you and asking Natasha hadn’t help either, though you knew it was probably her who gave your coordinates away this time – in a little coffee shop in Prague as mid-morning slowly approached.

“It’s too early to talk about what you’re selling, Cap,” you murmur before taking a sip of your café latte, as he sits down. You look up for a moment and freeze. He still had the beard accompanied by a brown bomber jacket, that stupid white shirt that is a bit too tight, and aviator glasses. You frown as your heart stutters for a bit, someone knows your likes too well.

“Is Natasha dressing you again?” you say and while it’s supposed to a tease, your flat disinterested tone makes it a bit questionable. There’s a small smile on his face at the statement because you aren’t outright ignoring him anymore – he’ll really have to thank Nat later.

“Something like that,” he admits, but you’re already going back to work. The waiter asks him if he is going to order anything and all he asks for is black coffee. Nothing much is said after that and eventually you finish your work and get up without another word, but it feels like big step in some ways to Steve.

_Let her go at her own pace and you’ll see. You’re both stubborn like that._

Natasha really did have some good advice.

* * *

  **2014.**

 _J_ _ust tell him already. What’s the harm in that?_

Natasha really had some of the worst advice sometimes. The redhead was the first, and only person thus far to have picked on your little crush towards America’s Golden Boy and tried to have you do something about it. However, on your own you were quick to pick that while your relationship with Steve had sobered into a semi-casual friendship. You weren’t stupid not to notice how his eyes fluttered and he smiled a bit more when Nat talked about a certain nurse that lived in his building. You had fallen for all the different sides that you had seen (that he had let you see) of Steve Rogers, and you hated yourself for it.

However, you weren’t needed, the expendable sort of person -- you weren’t like Nat, or even like Sam. You have this epiphany, as you sigh in the waiting room chair rotating your shoulder with a hiss a pain. You were sure you were going to need a cast after fighting your share of disguised HYDRA agents when all hell broke loose on the Triskelion. Hell, you were going to need a new job now too. You close your eyes and just sink in your own murky thoughts, unsure of what to do next.   

“How is he doing?” a low voice ask you, as you look up to see blue eyes and a worried smile -- Agent 13, Sharon Carter. Her hair is little matted and there is a small bandage on her right eyebrow, but she still looks better than you -- black eye and busted lip.

“Don’t know,” you mumble because you don’t really know, which is really the larger statement to the present relationship you have with Steve Rogers because while you went on thinking everything was all right, he was out there looking for the Winter Soldier and brought down all of S.H.I.E.L.D down with the helicarriers. You were angry and annoyed, but more with yourself than him. This wasn’t fucking healthy.

“You know, the CIA is recruiting,” Sharon breaks you out of your despairing thoughts, probably thinking that you are more worried about what happens now that your livelihood is gone than your disastrous personal life.     

“Thanks, I’ll look into it,” you give her a steady smile, as her name gets called from the other side.

* * *

Fury knows that there are two places you don’t go to -- London and Miami. The Floridian city due to a very botched mission that involved a sequin dress and a certain cartel, which Nat still didn’t let you forget when the occasion rose for it. London was more childish, the bad weather fitting your current personality, though you tried to ignore it since this present mission called for it. However, it wasn’t helping that a certain blond man with dark jacket and dark navy suit underneath that, almost as if to match your own dress, is standing next to you.  You groan, as he gives you a sheepish smile.

“Nat again?”

“Tony,” he explains, as you frown and make a note to throw away any Stark Tech you might have back in your hotel room. You take a couple of deep breaths before looking at the man standing next to you, noting that you don’t have much of a choice now.

“I guess, you’re my date tonight,” you state, while putting your hands in your coat pockets and thanking whatever force up above that is stopping Steve Rogers from taking off that beard, “I guess, just sit back and look pretty.”

“Aren’t you gonna give me a debrief?” Blue eyes look at you and he can’t help but smile at how gorgeous you look, even though the those red-painted lips of you are forever frowning at him. He gives you a boyish grin, momentarily thinking that this is somewhere else, though in your head he’s with someone else.  

“ _Nope._  You’re gonna enjoy the party and I’m gonna do my job,” you declare, quickly running through the rain as you cross the street in high heels, only turning back once to yell at him before disappearing into the building completely, “You ain’t part of this, Steve!”

He knows that you’re hitting him back for everything he had done to you, but somewhere deep down he was also gleeful to hear his name coming from your lips once again, as he follows your lead and tries to make sure you didn’t get killed.

* * *

  **2016.**

It wasn’t that your job with the [ JCAT ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Counterterrorism_Center)usually involved going into other countries and chasing after superheroes, but after everything that had gone down in Vienna and your connection to a certain Star Spangled Man, your team leader had sent you on the first plane to get as much data as you could from Agent Ross and Carter. However, as you watched everything go down to hell, Sharon choose to help Steve and he seemed elated at it. Blue clashing with blue as you watched from the behind the vehicle, you didn’t have to be here --you didn’t have to be risking your job and livelihood for a glimpse at the unobtainable-- but, you had wanted to help, even if you weren’t needed.   

It’s a look. It’s a kiss, and you do your best to look away -- to let your heart break in silence over the confirmation of many things. Steve leaves with the rest of his faction, no glance in your direction nor a goodbye as Sharon comes back to the car you drove in.

“I--” she starts, and you wonder if in someway it’s the same for her because anything she could have with Steve Rogers just flew out the window due to his dedication to Bucky Barnes and the cry of injustice his friend was suffering after all he had gone through. Maybe, Steve was chasing the little remnants of the past he had because Sharon could have been Peggy once, and Bucky would still be there. However, you aren’t part of the past, even less of the present.

“You would’ve looked cute together,” you say in a hollow voice, as she gives you a tight smile. The both of you get back in the car, ready to face the consequences of your actions.  

“You ready?” is all she sees, in these few moments where your heart stutters and resurrects itself, you feel a connection with Sharon Carter that you hadn’t before.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you declare with a laugh, but it feels like you’re stating something bigger in the fact that you are ready to move on from Steve Rogers.  

He disappears. Sharon gets put under disciplinary probation for a year, and you run the moment Nick Fury appears at your front door.  

* * *

 “You know, I saw him there other day,” Sharon states, testing out the waters as you look at her with an even stare.

In the past two years, you had formed an odd friendship with the CIA Agent, meeting here and there whenever you were in the general vicinity of each other. You had watched each other grow and hardened a little more and Sharon even allowed herself the chance at potential real love, as she had fallen for a British Interpol agent not that long ago, as you had seen from the pictures she had shown you.

“And?” is all you manage to ask, as you stare off ahead into the clear, blue water in front of you. You cock your head to the side, waiting for her voice once more.

“He’s different,” she explains, “Like, he’s finally steady _here_. Maybe, you should see him again.”

Her suggestion is met with a hum of dissatisfaction, but she starts up again before you can give you own list of reasons as why you weren’t going to do something that she was suggesting, which happened more often that you realized. Maybe, it was just something that happened more frequently now that you were more blunt about your feelings.   

“I’m not telling you to do it for him,” Sharon states, as you finally turn to look at her. A small smile on her face, as she states something way too close to your heart, “Do it for yourself, to forgive those emotions I know you hate so much.”

“When did you get so wise, Carter,” you tease and concede in your own way, though it doesn’t mean that you would be searching for Captain America anytime soon, though it was in the back of your head now, and that’s all Sharon really wanted to do.

“I think it runs in the family,” Sharon laughs, as you shake your head.

Too bad, you didn’t know that a certain man would come looking for you instead.

* * *

**2018.**

It was one of those newer things he was getting used to since coming back to New York, taking a day off every couple of weeks and enjoying hanging out with Sam and Bucky. Drink some beers, play some games, and sometimes just swap stories. However, it seems that Steve is feeling something close to nostalgia as Sam and Bucky notice that he keeps going on about more recent stories to around the time shortly after the Avengers had been formed. Both of his friends notice the softness that his face seems to gain around a certain person, one that neither of them had meet, which piques their curiosity even more. However, Bucky can’t help but sense that there is something more at play here.

“So, where this gal now?” Sam questions, as he takes another chug of his beer. The story had been about how she had almost burned the kitchen trying to make dinner which lead to a very wet Steve and her trying to explain everything to Tony.

“She joined the FBI after S.H.I.E.L.D fell, haven’t really heard from her since,” Steve explains as Bucky keeps observing the reaction of his best friend’s face -- wistful and almost dreamy. The blond clears his throat, asking the two if they want anything before he gets up and goes back into the kitchen area.  

“She kinda sounds like that woman that was in Vienna,” Sam says shaking his head, already pretty much putting everything together, “The one with Sharon.”

“He’s probably in love with her, and he doesn’t even realize it,” Bucky sighs out in annoyance, “Seventy years and still emotionally constipated.”

“You gonna tell him?” Sam laughs.

“Nah, let him figure it out on his own,” is all Bucky says on the matter, though he is fully aware on how good a super soldier’s hearing can be.   

* * *

_Three months_ , you’re radio silent for that long, that even Natasha hears nothing. However, she isn’t one to worry because she can personally  attest for your skills and while Steve doesn’t doubt you either, it’s those feelings of worry and something else that bring him back to the little Scottish pub -- to ask if you had come back and if the bartender had a way of contacting you. The answer was always no, until one night --near closing-- when he’s sitting closer to the entrance, ready to leave and head back --- that’s when the door opens.

“Vodka, please,” a rusty voice pleads, as blue eyes turn to see a figure taking a seat two down from his. The bartender hisses at the sight of your face -- black eye, busted lips, and the two men can tell that you are probably hiding more injuries underneath that coat and dark clothing that you are wearing. There is a silence between the three of you as the man lines up the small glasses and blue eyes watch you.

“What are you doing here again?” you question before doing your first shot. Steve stays silent as you turn to stare at him.     

“I’m not sure what you want, Steve,” you state, confused and bitter at the same time, “But, I’m not the person you knew 3 years ago. Hell, I doubt you are too. I’m not going to reminisce down memory lane with you.”     

“That’s not what I came here for,” he states calmly, as you feel a bit of annoyance and that old anger flare up again, like you already know what he wants to for.

“I’m not going back to New York. I like my job as it is now,” you declare defensively thinking that he might be here to recruit you, as he simply nods taking in what you’re saying and enjoying having you next to him, talking like the two of you used to. You take another shot and wince lightly at the burning sensation that it gives your busted lip.

“I’m not asking you to change anything. Just…”Steve pauses for a moment, unsure of how to say what he really wants to, “I just want be friends, be part of your life again. It’s taken me some time realize, but I missed you, _alot_.”

You stay quiet for a moment, closing your eyes and remembering what Sharon had told you awhile back.

“I...I can do friends,” you smile as best you can before an odd sound escapes your throat, almost like you’re laughing. Steve nods, before taking the seat next to yours.

“Have I ever told how much I hate Miami?” you question in all seriousness, as he starts laughing at how you say it.

“No, but I am guessing there’s a story behind it,” Steve states, smiling behind his own glass.

“Well, ya see. It started with Nat…”

There is space given and space taken, and just maybe one day both of them will realize that there doesn’t need to be any space between both of them and their true feelings.     


End file.
